


Safe

by flutterflap



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: AU from there, And a lot of other things too, Angels are not very nice to each other., Another Chloe-finds-out hiatus fic, Brothers, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Dysfunctional Family, Episode: s02e09 Homewrecker, Everyone is protective of Lucifer, F/M, Guilt, He is angsty about it, Hurt Lucifer, Hurt/Comfort, Like seriously dysfunctional, Lucifer lurves Chloe, Lucifer whump, Protective Amenadiel, Protective Chloe, Reveal, long conversations, protective Maze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterflap/pseuds/flutterflap
Summary: “It’s three o’clock in the morning, Lucifer. You’d better be calling to apologize for standing me up.”“Unfortunately not. Don’t hang up—I— It’s just that I’m . . . in a bit of a bind.”“Lucifer, if this is some sort of game—”“I assure you, it’s not." He hesitated. “I seem to be, ah, in need of rescuing.”***Picks up right after s2e9, "Homewrecker"





	1. Chapter 1

Lucifer made his way through the throbbing mass of bodies on the dance floor at Lux. He gave a touch here, a smile there, but disengaged quickly and retreated to the penthouse, feeling simultaneously guilty and relieved. The detective was waiting for him in a restaurant across town, expecting him, but—he couldn’t face her. 

What she had done for him today—saved his home after he’d accepted the inevitability that he would lose it, for no other reason than that she cared for him, than that she saw him hurting—he couldn’t remember anyone doing something like that for him. Ever. Just the thought of it warmed him, made him feel—safe. Wanted. Loved?

And yet, he also felt impossibly distant from her after his session with Dr. Linda.

_Could it be because you’re afraid?_

And perhaps he was, at that. Fearful that the man she cared for—loved?—was only someone she thought she knew, wasn’t really _him._ He had told Chloe who he was, never tried to hide it, but was the truth any better than a lie if he knew he wouldn’t be believed? Did he _want_ her to believe? It had been a long time since he’d really tried to convince her, and the only avenue really left now—well. He knew all too well the effect his true face had on those who saw it—usually that was the _point_. He still caught that haunted look in Dr. Linda’s eyes sometimes, as though learning the truth had blown her whole world apart and nothing could bring it back together. He wasn’t sure he could take the detective looking at him like that.

And so he poured himself a drink and sat on the sofa and stared out over the city as dusk turned to darkness, not bothering to turn on any lights. His phone buzzed with her unanswered texts.

When the lift bell chimed sometime after midnight, Lucifer was surprised at the hopeful skitter of his heart at the sound. He turned, half-expecting to see her silhouette when the doors opened, come to dress him down for leaving her alone at the restaurant all evening, when he had suggested the date in the first place. 

But the figure that stepped out of lift was not Chloe. He was tall, golden, and unmistakably divine. Lucifer nearly choked with surprise at the sight of him.

“Gabriel,” he managed at last. 

“Hello, Lucifer.” Gabriel’s lip curled as he looked around the opulent penthouse. He had never approved of decadence, his elder brother.

Lucifer took another moment to get control of his surprise, then gestured an invitation for him to sit, all insouciant charm. “I didn’t expect to see you here, walking among the humans. Come to see what all the fuss is about?” Gabriel remained standing where he was, stoic, blue eyes hard in an incongruously boyish face. Lucifer grinned at him. His Righteousness _was_ an awful lot of fun to tease. “Come, sit. Let me pour you a drink. Have you ever smoked a cigarette? They’re divine.” He drew the word out into a purr, knowing how much his brother would hate it.

Gabriel folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “I did not come here for a drink, brother. I came here for you.”

“You don’t say.” As if he couldn’t have figured that out himself. Lucifer took a long, slow swallow of his whiskey to hide his growing unease. No mention of the detective, or their mother, he reassured himself. He cocked an insolent eyebrow. “Did Father send you?” At that, Gabriel’s mouth twisted into something like distaste. Interesting, Lucifer thought. He couldn’t remember Gabriel ever showing disapproval of anything their father did.

“Father seems content to let you do as you please. I came of my own accord.”

“Does he, now? How _very_ interesting. Has he spoken to you?” After Amenadiel—well, not these days, but before—Gabriel was among the most likely of any of them to receive the word of God.

“His silence is message enough.”

Interesting, indeed, that Father wasn’t speaking even to one of his most favored children. Lucifer perched on the arm of the sofa and crossed his ankles. “So why _have_ you come?”

“Uriel.”

“Ah.” He took another drink, let the heat of the liquor loosen the knot in his belly. He forced himself to look at Gabriel, to let him see his sadness, his guilt. He may not like him, but he was still his brother, as Uriel had been. “I didn’t want that, brother.” 

Gabriel’s expression was implacable.“You still killed him.”

“I had no choice!”

“There’s always a choice. There’s always another way.”

Lucifer flinched, hearing his words echoed back at him. “No _acceptable_ choice.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Because he threatened your human? One paltry little human soul.”

“And mum!” Lucifer pointed out. “And she’s not _my_ human. I don’t own her.”

Gabriel made a dismissive gesture.“Mother can take care of herself.” He advanced on him, fist clenching at his side. “You smote a divine being out of existence for a single worthless human, brother.”

The glass shattered in Lucifer’s hand. “Not. Worthless.” His eyes flashed red. He drew himself up to his full height. “She is—”

“Utterly insignificant,” Gabriel cut him off. “And her death would be on your head. Uriel would have stayed in the Silver City where he belonged if you had done as you promised and returned our mother to hell!”

Lucifer nearly growled. “Mother is serving out her sentence here on Earth. You said yourself Father doesn’t seem to care one way or another! Uriel came here on his own, intent on committing _two_ murders. I fail to see how _I’m_ the villain in all this!”

“Your hand wielded Azrael’s blade.”

“And Uriel is the one who introduced that little artifact into the scenario. Trust me, I would rather—”

Gabriel moved so fast, Lucifer didn’t see the blow before it landed. All at once he was flying through the air. He hit the wall, felt the stone buckle under him and landed hard on the floor, stunned. Gabriel stalked toward him, wings spread wide and blue eyes flashing, every inch the avenging angel. He drew his sword.

Lucifer’s eyes went wide. The edge of the blade held his attention; it wouldn’t smite him from existence, like Azrael’s, but what it _could_ do was bad enough. He raised his hands, truly afraid now. “Brother, please—”

The sword flashed, came down hilt first with a crack on the side of his head. Everything went black.

***

He came to with a pounding headache, ringing in his ears and the taste of blood in his mouth. His body ached all over, and not in the fun way. Was this what it felt like to be hungover? he wondered. _Score one for supernatural metabolism._ But no; he’d been hit on the head by his holier-than-thou brother—another one. The City of Angels really was getting quite crowded. 

He tried to move, found his hands restrained behind his back, handcuffed around a metal pillar in a disused warehouse. The scrape of his movements echoed in the empty space. The only light came in from the streetlamps outside filtering through dirty windows set high in the walls. He drew in a deep breath, smelled the salt tang of the sea. Somewhere near the docks, then. How original.

“Brother?” he called. His voice scraped in his throat.

No answer. Satisfied he was alone for the moment, he extricated himself from the handcuffs and got to his feet, using the pillar to steady himself as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He gingerly touched the side of his head where Gabriel had hit him, found it tender, his hair sticky with blood. “Thanks for that, brother,” he muttered. Where had he gone?

As soon as he was sure of his balance he pushed away from the pillar and set off in search of an exit. As he did so, he became aware of the familiar weight of his phone still in his pocket. He smiled, pulling it out. He even had a signal here. _Thank Dad for Gabriel’s arrogance and ignorance of humanity._ He dialed, listened to it ring as he picked his way through a labyrinth of empty shipping containers and unidentifiable industrial debris. Finally a sleepy, irritated voice answered.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Lucifer. You’d better be calling to apologize for standing me up.”

“Unfortunately not.” He grimaced, realizing his mistake almost too late. “Don’t hang up—I— It’s just that I’m . . . in a bit of a bind.”

“Lucifer, if this is some sort of game—”

“I assure you, it’s not.” What had he ever done that would make her think he’d do something like that? Then again, he supposed she had every right to be angry with him. He hesitated. “I seem to be, ah, in need of rescuing.”

There was a confused pause on the other end of the line. “Lucifer, what—?”

“I’ve been devil-napped.”

“You’ve been _what?_ By who? Where are you?” 

“Keep up, Detective!” Lucifer couldn’t stop the impatience that crept into his voice. He knew he had woken her, but this was getting ridiculous. Gabriel wouldn’t stay away much longer, and he couldn’t seem to find an exit from this place. “Kidnapped, by my brother, and I don’t know where I am, he knocked me unconscious. A warehouse. Somewhere by the docks.”

“ _Amenadiel?_ kidnapped you?”

A light flicked on overhead. He pressed his back against the side of a shipping container and dropped his voice to a whisper. “No, my other brother.” He heard footfalls, but the way sound traveled in the place, Lucifer couldn’t tell where they were coming from.

“How many do you have?”

“ _A lot._ ” He edged around the corner of the container. “Get Maze, tell her—” 

Gabriel landed in front of him in a gust of wind. Lucifer ducked under his fist; the container behind him flew backward with a rusty screech of metal. The phone went flying from his hand as he blocked the next blow.

“You should have stayed put, brother,” Gabriel said.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, retreating. “Since when have I ever done as I should?” He ducked another swing, and managed to land a few blows of his own before Gabriel swept his legs out from under him and he went down on the concrete with a bone-jarring crash. He never had been able to hold his own against Gabriel for very long. His older brother wasn’t an elegant fighter, but he made up in brute strength what he lacked in grace and speed. 

A heavy foot landed next to his head. Lucifer blinked up at him. Gabriel’s face was calm, cold, but there was a glint of heat in his eyes that Lucifer knew all too well. He felt a smile tug at his mouth. “You’re enjoying this,” he wheezed, and began to laugh. It hurt, but he couldn’t stop. He laughed until tears streamed down his face. “Oh, dear Gabriel. What _will_ Father say?”

***

“Lucifer?” Chloe scrambled out of bed. “Lucifer, what’s going on?” 

In answer, she heard the faint scuffle of fighting, too far away for her to tell what was happening. _He’ll be okay._ She snatched yesterday’s clothes from the floor and struggled into them. He’d had access to his phone, he hadn’t sounded like he was injured or in pain, and Chloe had seen him lift a grown man by the throat with one hand. He could take care of himself.

The distant, tinny sound of his laughter, thick, and bitter, raised gooseflesh on her arms. “Lucifer?” _He’ll be okay._ He had to be. Her hands shook as she took her gun from the safe and slipped an extra clip into her pocket. She should have guessed something had happened when he hadn’t shown at the restaurant, should have gone to Lux instead of going home. Should have checked on him.

His laughter broke off with a strangled cry. There was a crunching sound, and then the line went dead. 

Chloe dashed down the hall to Maze’s room. 

“ _What_?” Maze nearly took Chloe’s arm off with one of her knives when she shook her awake. Chloe leapt back, hands up.

“It’s Lucifer.” She held up her phone as if it could explain. “He’s—he said he’s been kidnapped. He said—I heard him say a name, I think. Gabriel. Does that mean anything to you?”

Maze’s expression turned murderous. “Yes.” She was on her feet, pulling on clothes and tucking knives into her sleeves and another set into her boots.

“Who is he?”

“Lucifer’s brother. Not one he gets along with.”

“Obviously.” She had a million questions, beginning with, _What makes someone’s brother want to kidnap them?_ but she pushed them away. Find him first; questions later. Maze caught her arm as she was dialing her phone.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Calling for backup.”

“No backup.” Maze let her go hand go.

“What are you talking about? Of course we need—”

But Maze shook her head again. “This is—beyond their ken. They can’t do anything.”

Chloe stared at her. _Beyond their ken?_ “What are you talking about?” 

Maze looked like she was about to explain, but then she shook her head, as if to herself, and said simply, “Do you trust me?”

Chloe blinked, then nodded. Maze released her hand. “No police. They’ll only get hurt.”

“Okay.” She hesitated. “I’ll get someone to trace his phone, at least.”

“Fine.” Maze grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. “We’ll get Amenadiel on the way.”

***

Gabriel’s foot landed in Lucifer’s belly, choking off his laughter. Lucifer curled on his side, clutching at the knot of pain. “Brother,” he gasped at last, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Gabriel stepped back at last, breathing hard. He’d always had a special hatred of Lucifer, but he’d hidden it behind his righteousness, claimed he was protecting their brothers and sisters, and later, humanity. Lucifer had never seen him lose control like this, before, _burn_ with it. He rolled onto his back and grinned up at him, his mouth bloody. “You call yourself the Angel of Mercy.” He spat. “I’d rather be the Prince of Darkness. At least I don’t lie.”

Without a word, Gabriel hauled him to his feet and dragged him across the floor to the pillar where he’d tied Lucifer before. He hung him up by the wrists, his shoulders wrenched back painfully. Lucifer tugged at his shackles and hummed approval. “Mmmm, very kinky, I like it, brother. Won’t make the mistake with the handcuffs again, will you?” Gabriel backhanded him across the face, jerking his head to one side. He licked his lips, tasting fresh blood. “What’s your plan, then? Here to punish me? The torturer becomes the tortured? Perhaps Father should have made _you_ Lord of Hell. Tell me, brother, is that what you desire?” He cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing. “What deep, dark secrets does your pure heart harbor, hm?”

“That doesn’t work on me, Lucifer, and you know it.”

Lucifer did know, but he plunged ahead anyway, feeling reckless. “The power to punish? The power to grant mercy? No. It’s something darker than that.” Another blow, not unexpected, landed across his face. He ignored it, thinking back across millennia to their childhood, to the way Gabriel had always lorded over them. They called him the Angel of Mercy, but Gabriel had always been quick to deal out a punishment he thought was deserved. Lucifer bared his teeth savagely, seizing upon the memory. “You like to make people beg,” he said. “Are you going to make me beg, brother? What do you possibly expect to do to me that Hell couldn’t?”

Hit him in the face, apparently. Lucifer worked his jaw, blinking to clear the stars from his vision.

“The deserving humble themselves before God.”

Lucifer snorted. “Mercy doesn’t count if it’s _deserved_ , brother, that’s the whole point. It’s like forgiveness. You don’t do it because people deserve it, you do it even though they _don’t_.” _Probably why I was never very good at either,_ he thought ruefully. 

Gabriel stood there seething, hands clenched at his sides and wings outspread but not making a move to hit him again, and Lucifer thought he understood something else about his brother, something he hadn’t realized before. He cocked his head to the side again, openly studying him. 

“D’you know what I think?” He knew it was unwise to goad him, but he didn’t care. It almost felt _good_. “I think you feel _guilty_. You always thought of yourself as his protector, didn’t you? But you couldn’t protect him from me.” He paused. “Or from himself.”

Gabriel’s hands clenched tighter, then relaxed. He looked away. “Perhaps I am, brother,” he said at last. “But yours is the hand that murdered him, and you will receive your punishment. And when I am done with you, I will take you back where you belong.”

Where he belonged. Hell. Lucifer shook his head. _This_ was where he belonged. Well, not here, chained to a pillar in an abandoned warehouse, awaiting torture; here on Earth, with—

With the detective. With Chloe. Not that he deserved her. Still, he hoped, maybe—she could forgive him. He could be worthy of her.

And even if not—

He remembered how casually Uriel had spoken of killing her, standing there with his hand poised over the fatal key, as if she were a favorite toy Uriel was going to break because Lucifer wouldn’t let him play. It was how they all thought of them, even Father—toys, playthings, pawns in some greater design. Lucifer had thought so, too, but he knew now they were so much more. Especially Chloe. 

Lucifer regretted killing Uriel. He didn’t regret the reason why.

He wasn’t going back to Hell. He lifted his chin. “A compromise, brother. A bargain.”

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Gabriel’s face, banished quickly. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”

“Still.” Lucifer’s lips quirked up in a smile. “It’s the Devil’s way, to make deals.” He spread his hands, bound above his head. “I accept my punishment. I won’t beg for mercy, but I won’t fight you, either.”

Gabriel folded his arms, looking significantly at the divinely-forged shackles that bound Lucifer to the post, but he only said, “And in return?”

“You agree not to take me back to Hell.”

The sword flashed out, glinting in the harsh electric light. “I’m afraid you have little say in the matter, dear brother.”

The flat of the blade landed against his ribs, slicing away fabric where it met the edge of the blade and raising an angry red welt along his side, edged with beads of blood. The second blow cracked bone, and he couldn’t stop the small sound of pain that escaped his throat. He gritted his teeth.

He was _not_ going back to Hell, because the detective was coming for him. He had to believe that.

In the meantime, he gave himself up to pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, comfort is coming after the whump. I'm not a very fast writer, guys; look for the next chapter in a week or two. In the meantime, talk to me. Because I have a lot of feelings about this show and no one I know IRL is caught up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little closer to the 2-week mark than 1 week, sorry for the wait! I tend to be a little optimistic about how long it will take me to get something up (and this particular fic has been harder to write than I expected.) It's against my better judgment to start posting before I've written the whole fic, but getting your feedback and thoughts also helps me write and think through the fic--so thank you all for your lovely comments!
> 
> Let's get the rescue underway...

“It’s this one,” Chloe whispered as Maze pulled into an alley between two warehouses, pointing to the one on their right. It had taken nearly an hour to get to the docks and find the place where Lucifer’s GPS had last registered. Ella had traced Lucifer’s phone quickly and quietly, without asking more than that Chloe text her to let her know he was okay, for which she was deeply grateful. She hoped he was still there.

She drew her gun and followed Maze along the outside wall, looking for an entrance. Amenadiel brought up the rear, keeping watch behind them. Chloe’s phone was a comforting weight in her back pocket; she had Dan on standby in case she needed someone to call backup. Chloe trusted Maze, but she wasn’t about to walk into a hostage situation without someone waiting for her word if she needed it.

The door, when they found it, proved easy enough for Maze to force—or maybe it had already been forced, Chloe thought, glancing at the dented metal as she followed her in. She heard a voice, a cry of pain that made her chest tighten. Maze glanced back at her, lips compressed. They crept silently toward the sound, where a light shone at the far end of the warehouse beyond of a jumble of packing crates and tall industrial shelving.

What she saw on the other side brought Chloe up short. Her breath caught. She could see Lucifer, chained to a post of some sort, his head lolling forward. A man in white stood over him, holding a sword. He was taller even than Lucifer, and—

He had _wings_. 

Huge, golden wings that shone with an inner light. They were—possibly the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Their light filled her mind, chasing away all other thoughts. Chloe’s mouth fell open, her grip loosening on the gun— 

And then she blinked and the vision was gone, and there was just a man standing there, strangely dressed, his face registering surprise as he turned toward them. Maze hurtled past her, knives drawn. He leapt back, blocking her attack with a huge, shining blade. _A sword?_ The sound of metal ringing against metal filled the warehouse, banishing the last of Chloe’s paralysis. She rushed to Lucifer as soon as the fighting was clear of him.

He was hung up by his wrists, high enough that his toes barely touched the floor, one arm wrenched back at an odd angle. His shirt and jacket hung on him in bloody shreds, the skin beneath blooming red and purple. Blood matted his hair and fanned down one side of his bruised face. 

Chloe reached up to check his pulse. His eyes fluttered open when she touched him. It took a moment for him to focus, but when he did a ghost of his familiar smile flickered across his face.

“Hello, Detective.” His voice was thin, breathy. “Welcome to the party.”

She swallowed back the tears that were welling up and smiled back at him, forcing herself to be reassuring. “Hey.” She cupped his cheek. “You look like you’re about ready to go home. Why don’t I get you out of here?”

“Yes, I think I’d like that.” His eyes closed again.

Chloe found a crate to climb up on so she could reach his shackles. The metal felt cold and smooth under her fingers, no sign of a lock or a catch.

“You can’t,” Lucifer mumbled, tugging weakly at them. “Humans—”

But she must have touched some hidden mechanism, because the shackles opened under her fingers. He let out a strangled cry as his injured arm fell. “Sorry, sorry.” Chloe wrapped an arm around his waist, hopping quickly down from the crate. He sagged against her, knees buckling as soon as his feet were on the ground. 

“I’ve got you.” Chloe grunted as she took his weight. God, he was _heavy_. Amenadiel appeared on his other side, helped lower him to sit with his back against the post. Her cop brain catalogued his injuries with clinical detachment: dislocated shoulder; concussion; lacerations to his chest and back; two or three broken ribs, at least, and the danger of one of those broken bones puncturing a lung; probable internal bleeding. “You’re going to be okay,” she said, gently brushing hair away from his forehead. Her voice only trembled a little.

He blinked at her, eyes swimming in and out of focus. “Sorry . . . I didn’t make dinner.”

Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled out of her. “I think you had a pretty good excuse.”

“No.” He shook his head, brow furrowing. “That was . . . after.”

Chloe frowned, started to ask him what he meant, but his eyes were losing focus again. His head started to drop forward. “Hey.” She slapped his cheek lightly. “Hey. Try to stay awake okay? Talk to me. What year is it?”

He squinted at her. “Depends . . . which calendar you consult.”

“Okay, smartass. Who’s the president?”

“A lying cheese puff I will happily come out of retirement to torture in hell when he dies.” He almost sounded like himself when he said it, his tone thick with disdain, brown eyes clearing.

She laughed in earnest this time. “Well, you still think you’re the devil. That’s . . . something.”

“I _am_ the devil,” he insisted. Amenadiel probed his disjointed shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain.

“Careful—” Chloe began, but before she could finish he had grasped the arm and wrenched it back into place with a sickening crunch. She winced.

“ _Bloody hell._ ” The words emerged from a guttural, animal sound of pain. His face had gone white beneath the bruises. “I thought—you were here to rescue me, not—continue my torture.”

Amenadiel placed the arm gently in Lucifer’s lap and patted his cheek. “I live to torture you, little brother.” He grinned, but Chloe could see the strain behind it. 

“Yes, well, there appears to be a line.” Amenadiel flinched, but he didn’t pull away from his brother. He hovered protectively over him.

Chloe followed his gaze across the warehouse, where the sounds of fighting made their way to them from the shadows. “Why would he do this to him?”

Amenadiel opened his mouth to answer, but it was Lucifer who spoke, his voice hollow. “I killed Uriel.”

Something cold and heavy dropped into the pit of Chloe’s stomach. She looked back down at him, her mouth dry. “What?”

“Our brother,” Amenadiel said grimly.

Lucifer looked up at him, plaintive. “I didn’t want to.”

“I know you didn’t, Luci.” Amenadiel caressed his brother’s cheek again. Lucifer closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Chloe watched them, trying to grab hold of her racing thoughts. She knew he could be violent, but she couldn’t picture him killing anyone. Not outside the most desperate circumstances. And if this brother was willing to torture him—

She shook her head. She couldn’t think about that right now; she had to get him out of here, get him safe, and then she could sort it out. He could explain.

Amenadiel got to his feet. “Gabriel!” he thundered. He stepped over Lucifer and strode toward the sounds of metal clashing. “Why don’t you come pick on someone your own size?”

There was a crash, and Gabriel appeared at the edge of the light that illuminated their side of the warehouse, his white robes torn and spotted with blood. Amenadiel ran toward him, roaring with rage. Gabriel made no move to avoid him. Chloe had the strange impression, once again, of wings and golden light filling the room, and then it—and he—was gone in a gust of wind. They both were. The silence seemed to echo in the suddenly empty space.

“Amenadiel?”

Nothing. Chloe blinked and shook her head, trying to keep hold of what she had just seen, but it kept slipping from her grasp. A flash of light. Lightning? But the sky outside was clear, the night cool.

“Maze?” She thought she heard someone moan, a scrape of movement from across the warehouse, but no response.

“Shit.” Her mouth felt dry, her breath unsteady. “Shit shit shit.” She fumbled for her phone, her hands shaking.

Beside her, Lucifer said, “He was going to kill you.”

Chloe froze. “What?”

“Uriel. That’s why—” He broke off, closing his eyes again. He’d rested his head back against the post. Chloe saw him swallow. “Protect you,” he mumbled.

She stared at him. Lucifer’s brother had wanted to kill her? Why? And why hadn’t he _told_ her? She forced herself to take a deep breath, and another. To focus. She needed backup: an ambulance—two, one for Maze—and unis to canvass the area for Amenadiel and Gabriel. They couldn’t have gone far. How had they gotten out, anyway?

Another sound made her look up, and to her relief, Maze was limping across the warehouse as she dialed her phone, a gash across her shoulder and a bruise rising on one cheek, but alive and mobile. She caught Chloe’s hand to stop her from finishing the call. “Come on.” She stepped to Lucifer’s other side and wrapped an arm around his waist, bracing her shoulder against his. “Can you stand?” she asked him.

“Think so.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

Chloe balked. “Amenadiel—”

“Is buying us time. Come _on_. We need to go.”

She didn’t think she had ever seen Maze look frightened before. She only hesitated another instant got her shoulder under Lucifer’s arm and together they hauled him to his feet.

***

Amenadiel clung to Gabriel as he flew over the rooftops of LA, wrestling with him as he swooped and rolled, either dragged down by Amenadiel’s weight or trying to shake him off. He finally skidded to a landing on a rooftop and stumbled back, hands in the air.

“Peace, brother. My quarrel is not with you.”

“If it’s with him, it’s with me,” Amenadiel growled, getting to his feet. His fists clenched at his sides, but he stayed where he was. Gabriel was a match for him at the best of times; Amenadiel didn’t stand a chance against him now. _So what am I doing?_ He only knew that what Gabriel had done to Lucifer had made him angrier than he had been since—well, since Lucifer abandoned his post and saddled Amenadiel with the job of guarding Hell. He hadn’t had a plan beyond rushing at him in a rage. Rather like the last time he’d confronted a brother in anger, he reflected.

Gabriel let his hands fall. He studied him, looking perplexed. “I never thought to see you ally yourself with Lucifer, brother.”

“He’s changed.”

“So have you.”

Amenadiel looked away. “Yes.”

He could feel Gabriel’s eyes on him. “What’s happened to you, brother?” He took a hesitant step forward, one hand reaching out. “Why didn’t you fly? What’s wrong?”

A bitter smile pulled at Amenadiel’s mouth. Where to begin? But he only said, “I did what I thought was necessary. I . . . sinned. Terribly.” He shrugged his shoulders, felt the shriveled husks of his wings against his back, useless and ugly.

“What are you saying?”

Amenadiel shrugged again. “I didn’t fly because I can’t, brother.”

Gabriel stumbled backward as if he had been hit, feeling behind him until he found the barrier around the edge of the roof and sat on it. “Fallen? You?” He looked skyward. “Lucifer severed his wings and now . . .”

Amenadiel grimaced. He didn’t want Gabriel’s horror, or his pity. “What of you, brother?” He crossed the rooftop and sat beside him on the low wall. “I know you and Luci don’t exactly get along, but . . . This isn’t like you.”

A muscle jumped in Gabriel’s jaw. His hands clenched in his lap, knuckles going white. “He killed Uriel. _With Azrael’s blade._ ” His voice shook. “He has to pay for that, and Father . . .” he trailed off.

“He’s not talking to you either, is he?”

“No.”

Amenadiel surprised himself with a low chuckle. “Actually, I think the last person he spoke to was Luci.”

“That’s funny to you?”

He shrugged. “A little.” The irony was too sharp not to appreciate. The whole universe seemed like a great cosmic joke to him lately. It made him understand his younger brother. Well. A little.

Gabriel looked down at his hands, deliberately unfolded them and laid them flat on his thighs. “I told Uriel not to come. I told him to trust Father to—” He shook his head. “He didn’t listen.”

“You know Uriel,” Amenadiel sighed. “He always thought he knew best.”

“It didn’t help that none of us listened to him. Even when he was right.”

“I suppose not.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in his own dark thoughts. Finally Amenadiel ventured, “Luci . . . He did what he did in desperation.”

“Are you defending him?”

“No. Yes.” Amenadiel shrugged. “I don’t know that I would have done anything different, in his place.” If Uriel had revealed his plan to him that day on the rooftop, would he have turned Azrael’s blade on him?

Gabriel’d eyebrows rose. “Over a human? Really?”

“He loves her,” Amenadiel said. 

Gabriel blinked, too incredulous to answer.

“He was protecting mom, too,” Amenadiel pointed out.

Gabriel waved away the deflection. “He _loves_ a _human_. How?”

“I don’t think he realizes it yet.” Amenadiel remembered the two of them dancing at Lux, the way his brother had smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Lucifer look— _content_ like that before. “But I think he’d do anything for her.” 

“If that’s true, then . . .”

“He has changed. Yes,” Amenadiel finished.

“To what end? What’s Father’s plan?”

Amenadiel didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he asked, “What will you do now?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Return to the Silver City, I suppose.”

“Just like that?”

“I doubt Lucifer would welcome another visit from me.”

“No,” Amenadiel agreed. “But Mom would.”

“Mom?” Gabriel repeated, as though it hadn’t occurred to him.

Amenadiel couldn’t help laughing. “And I’ll never hear the end of it if I let you leave without seeing her.” He stood up, extending his hand. “Come on.” Gabriel let him pull him to his feet.

***

Lucifer did his best to walk between Maze and the detective, but it was difficult to keep his balance when the world was tilting and spinning around him. He only managed a few steps before the floor slipped away beneath his feet and darkness rose up like a wave to meet him. 

When it receded he was lying down, his body folded awkwardly into a small space. There was a sensation of movement, vibration beneath him. A car? Everything hurt; white-hot fissures of pain wrapped around him, deepening with every breath. He wanted badly to escape back into unconsciousness, but he could hear Chloe calling him. She smiled when he opened his eyes, her face upside-down in his field of vision. “Hey,” she said. “Stay with me, okay?”

She was so beautiful, he thought, even with her hair mussed and her eyes red. Had she been crying? He reached up, clumsily, to touch her face. He could only make one of his arms work, and it felt heavy, unwieldy. 

She caught his hand, pressed it to her lips. Had he apologized for leaving her waiting? He couldn’t remember. “‘m sorry. About dinner.”

Her chuckle ended in a hiccuping sob, her breath warm against his fingers. “It’s okay. You’ll make it up to me.”

Darkness hovered at the edge of his vision, threatening to swallow him again. He fought against it. “I was afraid—” 

“Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Safe, because he was with her. He had never known anyone who made him feel safe the way she did, not even Maze, who’d appointed herself his protector and stood by him for so many millennia. He’d felt alone for so long, and he hadn’t even known it until he’d met Chloe. 

She seemed far away, as though he were looking at her down a tunnel. He would lose her as soon as she knew the truth, but he had to tell her anyway. “I’m a monster.”

Her hands felt cool on his cheeks, his forehead. “No, you’re not.” She sounded so sure, so strong, he almost believed it. But his hands were still wet with Uriel’s blood, Gabriel’s voice calling him a murderer loud in his ears, and he knew that was the truth.

“I killed my brother.”

She stilled. And then she said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear, “For me. To protect me.”

“Yes.”

Her fingertips dropped back down to his forehead, smoothed his hair. “Thank you.” And then, “I’m sorry.”

He frowned at her. _He_ was the one who had murdered his own flesh and blood, not just sent him packing off to Hell or another dimension but snuffed him out of the universe entirely. And _she_ was apologizing to _him_? It was all too strange, too confusing. He’d thought he was beginning to understand, but the threads he’d gathered kept coming unraveled.

He felt darkness sliding up over him again. He let it pull him down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your thoughtful comments! I love getting to chat about these characters and what makes them tick with you. :) 
> 
> Life is about to implode on me (I've been sick, and I just made a list of everything I have to do in the next week or so and almost cried). I'm hoping to carve out time for fic writing, but the next chapter might be a little longer in coming. Rest assured it's on the way, though!

Chloe clung to Lucifer to keep him from being thrown to the floor as the car screeched to a halt. He moaned, eyes fluttering open briefly and then sliding shut again.

“Lucifer?” She stroked his cheek. He didn’t respond. Maze had driven them back across town, flying down the freeways while Lucifer slipped in and out of consciousness in the backseat, his head and shoulders heavy in Chloe’s lap. Mostly out; he’d been lucid enough to talk to her at first, but his bouts of consciousness had gotten successively shorter and more confused. 

Maze opened the back door and Chloe looked around, expecting bright lights and ER nurses and a stretcher, but instead they were in the silent alley behind Lux. A fresh wave of panic gripped her. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “He needs a hospital!”

Maze’s lip curled as if Chloe had just suggested taking him to the DMV. “We can’t take him to a hospital.” She reached for Lucifer’s good arm and pulled him upright, eliciting another moan.

“What? Why?” 

Maze ignored her, draping Lucifer over her shoulders as if he weighed no more than Trixie and carrying him inside. Chloe scrambled out of the car and into the club after her. She caught up to her just as the elevator doors were opening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? What are _you_ talking about?”

Chloe just gestured helplessly at Lucifer, his long legs dangling almost to the floor. Maze glowered back, equal parts belligerent and confused. After a moment, the confusion cleared and her scowl deepened. “Fucking Gabriel and his fucking mind tricks,” she growled.

“What?” The word came out faint and uncertain. What did this have to do with Lucifer’s brother—except that he was the reason Lucifer needed a hospital in the first place? Maze just shook her head, and they rode the rest of the way to the penthouse in silence. Chloe trailed inside after her, trying to make this make some kind of sense. “Why can’t he go to a hospital?” she whispered.

Maze laid Lucifer on the bed with a gentleness that belied the fury on her face, somehow managing not to let any part of him fall too abruptly from her grasp. He stirred, and she laid a hand on his arm and said something too low for Chloe to make out. When he’d quieted, she straightened and turned back to her.

“He’s not _human_ , Chloe,” she said. “A hospital won’t know what to do with him.”

Chloe looked from Maze to Lucifer and back, not comprehending. _Not human._ Impossible. His voice spoke from her memory, one of a hundred times he had insisted that he was immortal, that he was the devil. She shook her head. “No.” 

Maze crossed to where she was standing in the entrance to his bedroom. She put her hands on Chloe’s shoulders, holding her gaze. “Chloe. _Think._ Think about what you saw tonight.”

She tried to remember. She had seen Lucifer, tied up and beaten, and a man standing over him—a man with a sword? She remembered light, and—“Wings?” She looked at Maze, not trusting the fleeting image. 

She nodded encouragingly. “What else?”

Chloe shook her head. It kept slipping away, her memories confused and fuzzy. “He had a sword. And he was . . . bright.” She squinted her eyes at the memory. Warm golden light, like sunrise and sunset and bonfires on the beach, that made her want to sink into it and lose herself.

“Chloe.” Maze called her back. She blinked at her. “You saw an angel,” Maze said.

“An angel.” Her gaze slipped past her to Lucifer, lying still and small and pale against the black bedspread. _Angel wings._ He’d said he’d lost his angel wings. And he had scars on his back, right where— “No,” she repeated. It was impossible. Had to be. She tried to pull away from Maze, to go to him, but Maze held her fast.

“Yes. _Think,_ Chloe. Gabriel plays tricks with your mind, but I know you’re strong enough to fight it.”

Chloe remembered the night she’d shot him. He’d been so surprised, not that she’d shot him, but that he’d _bled_. As if he’d never bled before, never felt pain. And when Malcolm had shot him . . . She remembered how he had crumpled to the floor. Chloe had been so sure she’d seen him die. His blood had been everywhere, all over him, all over the floor—but then there he’d been, minutes later, alive, and no sign of a wound. Amenadiel had given her such a neat explanation, but she’d known even then that it couldn’t be true. 

Lucifer was many things, but he was no liar.

Which meant . . . 

She looked back at Maze, the question in her eyes. Maze nodded.

 _When I used to run Hell . . ._ A hysterical laugh bubbled out of her. Chloe reached for the wall to steady herself. “I guess we can’t take the Devil to the hospital,” she gasped, and slid down to the floor. “That’ll raise a lot of questions, won’t it? Who’ve you brought in? Oh, just the Devil, he got kidnapped by his brother—he’s an angel, by the way—who tortured him nearly to death. Careful of the horns, they’re sharp.”

Maze’s lips quirked into a tiny smile. “He doesn’t have horns.”

For some reason, that made Chloe laugh harder. There was no humor in it, just a sort of raw incredulity that this was her reality, now, and she was either going to laugh or scream her way into it. Maze squatted down in front of her and grasped her shoulders again. Somehow, her touch helped Chloe calm down, reminded her she was real. “He’s going to be fine,” she said. “He’s immortal, remember?”

Chloe ’s vision blurred. “He said he’s a monster.”

“Do you think he is?”

She looked toward him. She could only make out a hint of his shape on the bed from where she sat, trembling, on the step. “No.”

Maze squeezed her shoulders. “This isn’t the first time I’ve patched him up. I’ll take care of him.”

Another hiccup of a laugh. “I think he needs more than patching up.”

“He just needs time to heal.” Maze hesitated, looking like she regretted what she was going to say next. “But . . . you need to go.”

Chloe shook her head, bracing against the wall to get to her feet. “I’ll help you.”

“No,” Maze repeated, more forcefully. “You need to leave.”

“Why?” A painful lump had formed in her throat, and the word came out sounding thin and pitiful. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

“He’s immortal, but you make him vulnerable. Physically vulnerable. I don’t understand it—neither does he—but you being here right now is dangerous for him.” Maze bit her lip. “I’m sorry. But he’ll heal faster with you gone.”

“Oh.” It made as much sense as anything else, like Lucifer _really_ being the Devil and an angel torturing him. A thought occurred to her. She looked back at Maze “Are you an angel, too?”

Maze barked a laugh. “I’d be insulted if I thought you knew what you were saying.” She steered her to the elevator. “Go home. It’s the best thing you can do for him right now.”

Chloe blinked away more tears. “When can I come back?”

“I’ll let you know. I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

The elevator doors closed, leaving Chloe alone in the dim golden light.

***

Maze glowered at the closed elevator door for a moment after it closed, hands clenching into fists and a growl rising in her throat. “ _Fucking_ Gabriel.” Bad enough, what he had done to Lucifer; she hated him even more for how dazed and fragile Chloe—sure, steady Chloe—had looked as she left. The next time she saw Gabriel, she was going to bash his face in for that.

But now wasn’t the time for that. She collected what passed for first aid supplies in the penthouse—ice and warm water, towels, a bottle of hydrocodone stashed behind the bar—and went back to the bedroom. Lucifer lay where she had left him, eyes closed, breath shallow. She had seen him in worse shape, but not for a long time. Back in the early days, when he’d been newly fallen and she just emerged from the fires of Hell, she’d battled his siblings by his side and hauled him, bleeding, away from more of those battles than she could count—most of the time, she’d been as bad off as he was, if not worse. But the war had ended, eventually, and nothing the two of them had managed to cook up in the time since had left him seriously injured for millennia. Not until—well, until they had landed in Los Angeles and he had ordered her to cut his wings off.

For a moment she was back on that beach with Lucifer lying face down in the blood-caked sand at her feet, weeping and laughing and cursing his father by turns. His great white wings lay like two dead things between them. 

He hadn’t seen her tears at their loss as she stood there with blood and feathers clinging to her arms. He hadn’t thought to look.

Maze shook her head, wiping angrily at her eyes. No use being sad or angry, not anymore. They were gone, and there was nothing to be done, and plenty of other things to be angry about. 

With a sigh, she got to work.

***

Lucifer drifted somewhere between sleeping and waking. Pain sang along his bones, as much sight and sound as physical sensation. There was a deep, persistent throbbing in his shoulder, heavy bass that reverberated down his arm and across his chest. Needles of bright white exploded like fireworks in his sides with every breath. He was aware of voices nearby—Maze and the detective, he thought—of being carried somewhere and laid on something soft, but it was too much work to try to figure out where, or what they were saying.

The mattress shifted under him. He felt hands, someone carefully peeling away what remained of his clothes. The touch pulled him out of the gray fog where he’d been floating, somewhere closer to consciousness.

“ ‘tective?” he asked, but it was Maze who swam into view above him. Had the detective been there, or was that a dream? He thought he remembered her holding him, in a small, dark space.

“I sent her home.” She reached across him for something. 

He felt confused. She’d been there, and Maze sent her away? “What’d you do that for?”

She glanced at him, face unreadable. “Here, take these.” She held out a handful of pills. “For the pain,” she added when he didn’t take them right away. He let her pour them into his mouth, help him drink from a glass of water.

“Why?” he asked when he lay back again.

Maze reached across him for something. Lucifer heard scissors, felt more fabric falling away from his body. “So she doesn’t kill you.”

He frowned. Chloe didn’t want to kill him. Did she? She _said_ she did, sometimes, but Lucifer was pretty sure she wasn’t being serious. More cutting, more cool air on his skin. “I like that suit,” he protested weakly, as Maze pulled pieces of it out from under him.

“Take it up with your brother. He’s the one who ruined it.”

Gabriel. Right. “Chloe doesn’t want to kill me,” he said. “ ’s Gabriel.”

“Gabriel doesn’t want to kill you, he wants to make you suffer.” Maze scowled down at him, hands on her hips. “You got your punishment. I hope you’re happy.”

He looked down at his bruised, naked body. Was that how people felt when they were punished? Happy? He remembered Uriel’s weight as he fell against him, his brother’s blood spilling hot over his hands, and only felt that it wasn’t enough. “I deserved it.”

Maze picked up a clean towel and snapped it open. “Do I? Does Chloe?”

He blinked at her, not understanding. 

“What happens to you affects us, Lucifer. It affects the people who—care about you.” There was a sloshing sound, and she wiped blood away from his face, rather more vigorously than was necessary. He winced. She pulled away, but her voice remained hard when she spoke. “When are you going to figure that out? You getting punished isn’t just about you.”

There was another sloshing sound, and the mattress shifted again. He heard Maze walking away. Chloe had been crying, hadn’t she? He remembered her eyes had been red, swollen. And now Maze—once again—was taking care of him. He blinked again, trying to keep his eyes open, but the pills she’d given him were taking effect, and his heavy lids kept sliding shut. The rest of his body felt strangely light, as if he were going float away. 

“‘m sorry,” he said when Maze came back.

She sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

He frowned at her. Hadn’t she just said . . . ? “But—”

“Never mind. We’ll talk about it later.” A warm cloth bathed his face, gently this time. “Go to sleep.”

He tried to protest, to insist they talk now, but before he could he felt himself set adrift in the dark.

***

Somehow, Chloe managed to hold it together long enough to drive home, mostly by keeping her mind carefully blank. She was aware of shivering, aware of her pounding heart, her hands shaking on the steering wheel, but she didn’t let herself think of anything except driving home the pre-dawn gray of the early morning. She concentrated on believing what Maze had told her, that going home was the best thing she could do for him. She concentrated on getting home safely for her daughter, so that she would be there when Dan brought Trixie home that afternoon.

There was a light on in the apartment when she got there. Her stomach sank as she drew her gun, nauseated by yet another violation. She unlocked the door and pushed it open cautiously.

“Chloe?”

It was Dan, rising from the couch as she entered, his eyes wide and frantic. Chloe was so relieved she almost sat down on the floor right there. Instead she holstered her weapon with numb hands, groped her way toward him, and collapsed against his chest.

“You didn’t call,” he said, his voice breaking. One arm wrapped around her, supporting her as she sobbed against him. He patted her down with his other hand, checking for injuries. “Chlo? What happened? You have blood on you—”

“It’s not mine, it’s—” The words choked off.

“Lucifer’s?”

She nodded.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t—I don’t know. Where’s Trixie?”

“My place. My sister came over.”

Another wave of tears broke over her. She let Dan steer her to the couch and buried her face in his shirt and cried. He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back, making soothing sounds.

Once she had calmed down, he gently extricated himself and brought her a drink. He sat back down, close enough for their knees to touch, and took her hand. She sipped the whiskey gratefully, then almost went to pieces again. The bottle had been a housewarming gift from Lucifer, a label she hadn’t recognized but that he’d assured her was top shelf. She pictured him standing in the kitchen, looking dubious about her arrangement with Maze and at the same time so adorably _fond_ that Chloe had been unable to resist teasing him. The memory dissolved into an image of his bloody face and torn clothes. She clutched the glass.

“What happened?”

Chloe took another sip, drew a deep, shaky breath as the warmth of the alcohol spread through her, and slowly, haltingly, told him. All of it. He stayed silent for a long time when she finished.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” She gave a shaky laugh. Maybe she was. Sitting here in her living room with Dan, the sun coming up outside, the events of the night felt distant, unreal. Except Lucifer’s blood had dried on her shirt, her hands, keeping what had happened all too close. She went to take a drink to steady herself, found her glass empty, and got up to refill it. She brought one for Dan when she came back.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Dan said, taking the glass from her. “I just . . . do you really believe it? All that devil stuff?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned toward him, intent. “But I’ve seen things. That first case we worked? I swear, Dan, I saw him get shot. _Six times._ And he just . . . shook it off.”

“Chloe, _you_ were shot,” he pointed out. “You passed out, remember?”

She shook her head, stubborn. “That’s what I told myself, but I know what I saw.” And there were other things. A half-glimpsed reflection she’d convinced herself was a trick of the light. All the times he’d gotten people to confess their darkest desires with just a seductive tilt of his head. “And he has scars on his back, like—”

“Like wings,” Dan finished. He looked grim. “I’ve seen them.” After another moment he shook his head. “But there could be a million explanations for them.”

“Or he could be exactly what he says he is,” Chloe said. A fallen angel. The devil. The Devil? Was it a proper title? 

“But”—Dan was still trying to logic his way out—“if he’s—I can’t believe I’m saying this—but if he’s vulnerable around you, then wouldn’t he have been hurt when he got shot that first time?”

“I don’t know. We’d just met, maybe it hadn’t kicked in yet, maybe . . . I don’t know,” she repeated. “I was there when Malcom shot him, and he—” Her voice caught.

“But you weren’t there tonight—” Dan faltered. “When his brother beat him.”

“One angel can hurt another,” she said absently, repeating what Lucifer had told her, all those months ago.

There was a pause. “You really believe this, don’t you?” Dan said.

“I don’t know!” The whiskey sloshed out of her glass and onto her hand. She gulped the rest of it down. “I don’t know. But I’m starting to think it’s the only thing that makes sense.” She laughed, feeling suddenly giddy. “Which doesn’t make any sense, I know.”

Dan sat back and shook his head. “I don’t know either.” He knocked back the rest of his glass, reached for hers, and set both of them on the table. “I’d say it’ll make more sense in the morning, but—” He nodded toward the window, where pale blue sky was visible through the trees outside. “You should get some rest. Call in sick.”

Chloe nodded, but inwardly she grimaced. How could she rest, with the image of Lucifer lying bruised and beaten on his bed hanging behind her eyes? She trusted Maze to take care of him, to do what was best for him, but she itched to be with him, hated that she could cause him pain just by being near him. “You should, too. We were both up half the night.”

“I’m fine.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Want me to take Trixie again tonight?”

She blinked away fresh tears. “I think—yeah, that would probably be a good idea.” She sniffed. “Thanks, Dan.”

He smiled, a little sadly. “I’m always here for you, Chloe.”

“I know. I . . .”

“It’s okay,” he said. He squeezed her hand. “Sleep, okay? I’ll check in later.”

She doubted she’d be able to sleep, but she nodded, managed a smile, and walked him out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday! This chapter feels sort of conversational and transitional to me. And of course, more conversations are coming. Thanks again to everyone for your thoughtful comments on previous chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Amenadiel had a plan in mind when he insisted that Gabriel come see Mom. Like most of his plans, it wasn’t very detailed—more of a general intention than anything else. Get Gabriel to Mom, and let Mom convince him to help get them back to the Silver City. Amenadiel’s powers of persuasion had always relied more on his fists than his words; he was, he was discovering in his time on Earth, spectacularly bad at manipulating people.

Still, he hoped that bringing Gabriel to see their mother would do more than just help get them home. Perhaps seeing Gabriel would break her single-minded focus on Lucifer. Perhaps he could help remind her that she had other sons.

Gabriel landed on the back patio as dawn was lightening the sky to the east. Amenadiel caught his balance and straightened his clothing with a grimace. Lucifer was right; being carried by an angel was _not_ a dignified form of travel. 

The light was on in the kitchen, the sliding door unlocked. Mom stood as Amenadiel pulled the door open, tugging her blue silk robe she tighter around the tall, slim frame she now occupied. “Son? I got your message. Is everything all right? I—” She broke off when she caught sight of Gabriel, ducking his head a little as he stepped into the room behind Amenadiel. Her eyes went wide. A small sound escaped her, almost a sob, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Finally, she whispered, “Gabriel?”

“Mother?”

Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “ _Gabriel._ ” She rushed to him, flung her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her shoulder, digging her fingers into his hair. “How I’ve missed you.” She pulled back to look at him, caressed his face. “My son. My child. It’s so good to see you.”

Gabriel still looked uncertain. “It’s really you?”

She smiled. “It’s really me. Your father stole my physical form, remember. I had to borrow a new one.” Her eyes took on a gleam that made Amenadiel shift uncomfortably. “It’s actually not so bad, now that I’ve gotten used to it.”

“ _Mom,_ ” Amenadiel muttered, feeling his face heat.

She rolled her eyes at him before turning back to Gabriel. She touched his face again, wonderingly, as though she didn’t quite trust that he was real, then stepped back to look him over. Her eyes narrowed as she noted the bruise rising along his jaw, the blood spattering his torn white robes. “What are you doing here, son? What’s happened”

Gabriel glanced back at Amenadiel, who spread his hands. _You’re on your own for this one, brother,_ he thought. He didn’t envy him.

Gabriel turned back to their mother, squared his shoulders. “I came because of Uriel.” He took a deep breath. “Because of what Lucifer did to Uriel.”

“I see.” She gestured him toward a chair. The three of them sat, Amenadiel taking a seat at the farther end of the small table, away from the coming interrogation. “And what were you intending to do?”

Gabriel looked at the table. “To punish him. And then take him back to Hell.”

“Did you?”

He glanced at Amenadiel. “We were—interrupted.”

She nodded. Not for the first time, Amenadiel marveled at her control: all the raw emotion of a few minutes ago was gone, hidden behind the cool, thoughtful expression that was making Gabriel squirm. “Where’s Lucifer now?”

“Maze is taking care of him,” Amenadiel said. He thought it better not to mention Chloe. He still couldn’t be sure Mom wouldn’t try to kill the detective, and he didn’t want to give her any more reason to think about her than she already had.

Her eyebrows rose. “He needs taking care of?” She turned back to Gabriel. “What did you do?”

He looked down at his hands, resting on the table, ashamed. “I . . . beat him.”

She scowled. “Well, I suppose the demon is good for something,” she muttered. Gabriel seemed to shrink a little more under her gaze, bowing his head even further. Then all at once she softened and reached across the table, covering his hands with hers. “You blame him. For Uriel’s death.”

“He killed him.” His voice broke. A tear dropped onto their joined hands.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice rough. “But Lucifer’s not the one you should be blaming.”

Gabriel’s head jerked up. “What?”

“Your father could have prevented all this.”

He shook his head, brows furrowing. “You know it’s not his way to interfere.”

Amenadiel snorted at that. “Unless it suits him,” he said. “Or have you forgotten all the visions you’ve bestowed? All the—”

Mom shot him a quelling look, and Amenadiel subsided. She patted Gabriel’s hand. “Just think about it, son. Consider who’s _really_ responsible.”

“ _Lucifer_ wielded the blade!” Gabriel insisted. “I should not have—perhaps—but—” He pulled away, made a frustrated gesture. “Uriel’s blood is on _his_ hands!”

“A fact Lucifer hasn’t forgotten,” Mom said, her voice cold and hard again. “He doesn’t need you to remind him, or to help punish him.” She shot a glance at Amenadiel.

“She’s right,” he said. “He’s doing enough on his own.”

Gabriel looked back and forth between the two of them, nonplussed. He opened his mouth, closed it, finally said, “You’re saying he . . . feels remorse? _Lucifer_?”

Amenadiel gave a humorless smile. “You don’t know our little brother very well.”

“I . . . suppose not.” Gabriel’s expression turned distant. Amenadiel watched him, wondering what had passed between his brothers that night, in addition to a beating. Had Lucifer expressed his regret? Had Gabriel listened? He wanted to ask him, but not in front of their mother.

“Which is why you need to go see him,” Mom said. “Talk to him. Get to know him.” She paused. “Apologize, perhaps.”

Amenadiel balked. “Mother, I don’t think—”

The table was small enough that she only had to extend an arm to reach his hand. She caught Gabriel’s with her other hand and squeezed them both. “You need each other.”

“I’ll hardly be a welcome guest—” Gabriel began.

“We _all_ need each other.” Her gaze took in both of her sons. Gabriel glanced uncertainly at Amenadiel, then back at her.

“We—we do?”

“We’re _family_ ,” she said. “Whatever else is between you and Lucifer, he’s your brother.”

After a moment, Gabriel conceded with a nod. “Yes. But—”

“Good.” She didn’t let him finish. “You’ll reconcile with Lucifer, and then we can all go home.” She smiled, looking somehow both terrifying and radiant. She glanced at Amenadiel. “ _All_ of us.”

Amenadiel sighed. Lucifer would always be the favorite, no matter how hard he fought it. She wasn’t going to give up on him unless he sent her back to Hell.

***

Mercifully, a hot shower and another generous pour of whiskey brought sleep within Chloe’s reach after Dan left. She woke sometime around noon, gritty-eyed and disoriented by the bright rectangle of sky out her window and the the time on the digital clock by the bed.

She rolled over and groaned into her pillow as the events of the night before came slowly trickling back. It should have been a dream, a terrible nightmare, but there it was, crisp and clear in her memory—parts of it, at least: Lucifer hanging on the post at the warehouse, the frantic drive across town with Lucifer lying heavy in her lap, Maze’s insistence that they couldn’t take Lucifer to a hospital, because—

Because Lucifer had been telling the truth about himself all along. No elaborate performance, as Amenadiel had claimed, no deep-seated delusion, just—himself.

The Devil.

She didn’t like to think of him that way. He was just Lucifer Morningstar to her, a charming weirdo who was brave and vulnerable and, despite his claims to the contrary, cared about justice and rightness and wanted—very badly—to be _good_. He may be the Devil, but—he was still _Lucifer._ Still her partner. Her friend. Her maybe-more-than-friend. 

No. She shook her head. It had just been dinner, just a thank you. Nothing more. Nothing would have happened, because it would never work between them. They were too different.

A little snort of a laugh broke out of her at that thought. He certainly was _different,_ she had that right. What kind of boyfriend would the Devil make? What kind of father?

Unbidden, her mind conjured a memory of Trixie hurling herself joyfully at him and his bemused reactions that had, gradually, warmed to her. Her daughter had a way of bewitching people, and Trixie had taken to Lucifer from the moment she’d met him. Whatever else he was, he was kind to her daughter. He had helped protect Trixie from Malcolm. Maybe not parent material, but he wasn’t the monster he seemed to think he was.

And he had killed his brother to protect Chloe. Another angel? Did Chloe have that on her hands, as well?

She pushed the thought away with her comforter and sat up, pulling her fingers through her tangled her. It was too much to think about all at once. 

Her stomach growled. The world had altered irrevocably but her body still demanded food. It didn’t seem right that everything in her home was still so solid and ordinary: the floor under her feet, the fleecy lining of her sweatpants. She stumbled down to the kitchen and called Maze while she waited for coffee to brew.

“How is he?” Chloe greeted her when she answered.

“About how you’d expect.” It was a relief to hear Maze’s customary belligerence. After a moment she added, a little more gently, “A little better. He’s healing.”

Chloe’s hand shook with relief as she poured coffee into a mug. She sank onto one of the bar stools. “Can I come see him?”

Maze didn’t answer right away, thinking or hesitating. Finally she said, “I don’t know how being around you will affect his ability to heal. In a couple days, I think.”

Chloe ground her teeth, frustrated. “I just—” She broke off. She couldn’t keep from picturing him as he’d been when she’d left the penthouse, lying still and pale on his bed. “I just want to see him.” Her voice broke a little. She didn’t care if Maze noticed.

Maze sighed. “Hold on.” A notification dinged for a video call, and Maze appeared on her screen. Her hair was in the same careless ponytail she had pulled it into last night, the bruise along her jaw swollen and purple. She smirked at Chloe. “You look like shit, Decker.”

“So do you.”

The penthouse swung dizzyingly in the background of the frame as Maze moved and turned the phone to show Lucifer, propped up on pillows in bed. Chloe felt another surge of relief at the sight of him. Maze had washed the blood away from his face, leaving behind vivid bruises but less swelling than she’d expected. A large ice pack wrapped in a pillowcase lay against his shoulder, and she could see more bruises and lacerations on his bare chest and arms, but he looked better, somehow. 

“Hey.” Maze tapped his knee. “Someone wants to talk to you.” 

He blinked a few times, frowning in puzzlement at the phone Maze was holding out to him. When he recognized Chloe on the screen, though, a wide grin broke across his face. “Detective!”

She smiled back. “Hey,” she said. A hand covered the camera lens and she heard a muffled thump, found herself looking at a screen half-covered by blankets.

“’s over there,” Lucifer said. “I can’t reach it.”

“Here.”

He appeared on the screen again before the phone dropped a second time, showing the ceiling this time. Maze made an impatient noise. “I’ll hold it.” 

The same dopey smile spread across his face when he reappeared in the frame. Maze perched on the bed beside him, looking annoyed. 

“Hey.” Chloe said again. She laughed, her voice unsteady. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, actually.” He paused, considering, then added. “I can’t feel my face. Or much of anything, really. Which is a vast improvement from the last time I was awake.”

Chloe looked more closely at him, took note of his glazed, slightly fixed expression. She raised her eyebrows at Maze. “What the hell did you give him?”

“Hydrocodone.” She shrugged. 

Chloe declined to ask where it had come from. “How much?”

Maze shrugged again.

“A handful,” Lucifer said helpfully. “And a bourbon chaser.”

“Jesus Christ.” Chloe dropped her face into her free hand. “How are you still conscious?”

“That’s what I’ve been wondering,” Maze grumbled, at the same time Lucifer huffed, “I assure you, Detective, he would be equally disapproving.”

Chloe lifted her head to see him scowling. She raised a questioning eyebrow. 

He gestured expansively with his uninjured arm. “You’d think a chap who could turn water into wine would be the life of the party, but _no_ , the sanctimonious twit, much too busy with his loaves and fishes and laying on of hands.” 

Maze snorted, covering her mouth with her hand.

He glanced sidelong at her. “ _Not_ in the fun way.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Yeah, you’d think he was the son of God or something.”

“Bastard son,” he corrected, which made Maze dissolve into helpless laughter. He followed suit a moment later, trailing off into a groan. “Ow.”

Chloe winced. “Just . . . be careful, okay? I don’t want to have to come over there and pump your stomach.”

Lucifer frowned at her a moment, as though he wasn’t sure what she was talking about. Then he beamed. “You’re worried about me!”

“Of course I’m worried about you!”

He waved his hand in dismissal. “Relax, Detective. I can’t overdose. I promise.”

“Right. Because you’re immortal.”

“ ’cept when you’re around.”

Chloe’s chest tightened. “Right.”

“You, and angelic fists of fury. My Achilles heels. Wait.” He frowned suddenly, looking intently at her face on the screen. “Does that mean you believe me?”

“She saw your brother,” Maze said.

“Gabriel?” He looked back at Chloe. “And you remember?”

“Only sort of,” Chloe admitted. The hazy memory was growing clearer, especially if she didn’t look directly at it, like looking to the side of a dim star to see it better. “Maze had to explain.”

“Huh.” He looked thoughtful. “And you’re . . . all right?”

“I . . .” Chloe trailed off. _Was_ she all right? She wasn’t sure. “I mean, I guess. As all right as I can be.”

“Detective . . .” he trailed off, uncertain.

“I just need some time.” She forced a smile, tried to be reassuring even as she suddenly, desperately needed to end the call. “I—I should let you rest,” she stammered.

“But—”

“I’ll come see you in a few days. When you’re healed. We can talk then.”

“A—all right.”

“Okay.” 

She turned the phone face down on the table, pushed her shaking hands through her hair. 

What had happened? One moment she had been laughing with him, and the next—he had asked her if she was all right, and suddenly she wasn’t. It was one thing to lay in bed and accept that Lucifer was the Devil. It seemed to be quite another to talk to him about it. Her belly clenched at the memory of his crestfallen face. _Just what he needs, another person abandoning him._

But she wasn’t abandoning him. She just needed time. She would go see him as soon as it was safe for her to be around him, and they would talk. Everything would be all right between them.

Her coffee was cold, and she still hadn’t eaten. She ignored the leaden feeling in her stomach and forced herself to stand up, to make fresh coffee, eggs, toast. 

One thing at a time. 

She just needed time, and then she could fix things.

***

“Well, that went well.” Maze lowered the phone.

“Did it?”

“She didn’t run away screaming.”

“She didn’t have to,” he sighed. He sounded so forlorn that Maze reached over and ruffled his hair.

“She’ll come around,” she said. “I could barely get her to leave here last night, even _after_ I told her. Besides, I know where she lives.” That coaxed a wan smile from him. Maze patted his arm. “I talked sense into Linda, remember.”

“How could I forget?”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Maze watching him from the corner of her eye. The hydrocodone seemed to finally be kicking in enough to replace his earlier euphoria with drowsiness. His eyes were growing heavy. “She’s right,” she said at last. “You should rest.” 

“I s’pose.”

She ruffled his hair again, then took the ice pack from his shoulder and brought the bag of now mostly melted ice to the kitchen. He was asleep by the time she came back, or close enough that he only mumbled unintelligibly when she pulled the blanket up over his shoulders. She stood and watched him for a moment. Hell would freeze over before she would ever admit it aloud, but he actually looked kind of sweet when he was sleeping.

She groaned. _Fuck. This place is making me sentimental._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend! One more chapter after this, I think. Lots of conversations needed to be had before we could get to the one I know you're waiting for. But I hope you enjoy this one!

Lucifer came awake to golden late afternoon sunlight on his eyelids and the sound of low, furious voices filtering through the tatters of sleep. The cocktail of painkillers and bourbon Maze had given him earlier had worn off and pain rolled over in him in waves, hot and constricting, like a vise squeezing each breath out of him. He blinked at the cluster of figures standing in his living room.

“What the hell did you bring _her_ here for?”

“I have a right to see my son!”

It took a few moments for his eyes to focus, for his sluggish brain to make sense of the conversation. Maze was standing with her back to him, blocking Mum from coming up the steps up to his bedroom. Amenadiel stood between them, looking poised to pull them apart. Another figure hung back in the shadows: tall and blond, clad in white. Lucifer frowned. Amenadiel and Mum he understood, but what was Gabriel doing here? Why was he with them?

Maze’s voice drew his attention away from his brother. “After what you did, you have _no_ right—”

Mum laughed, cold and musical. “Are you going to stop me, little demon? We’re not in Hell anymore, you can’t—”

Maze lunged for her. Amenadiel grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Maze! Mom, please.”

They were so intent on each other that none of them noticed Lucifer struggling to his feet.“What—” His voice came out in a dry, nearly inaudible croak, but it was enough to break the tableau before him. 

Maze whirled, swore, and bounded up the steps to him, reaching out a steadying hand. He waved her off, holding onto the wall instead. Mum let out a gasp when she saw him, her face going pale. Amenadiel placed a hand on her arm, looking pained. Lucifer imagined he must look a sight, naked and bruised and wavering on his feet. Mum’s eyes were bright with tears, and she shot a furious glance over her shoulder at Gabriel, hanging back in the shadows.

“Lucifer,” she began. She reached a hand out, but Amenadiel prevented her from coming any closer.

“What have you done, Mother?” he asked. His voice was still hoarse, but it came out a little stronger.

“What?” She blinked, seeming surprised by the question. “Nothing.”

Maze snorted derisively. “Only if you call ‘trying to blow up Lux’ nothing.”

She shot Maze a dirty look. “I _didn’t_ ,” she pointed out, as if that should settle it.

Lucifer looked from Maze back to her, caught somewhere between incredulity and anger. _Trying to blow up Lux._ He had to lock his knees to keep from falling. “You _what_?”

She threw her arms out to her sides, exasperated now. “It’s still here, isn’t it?”

“Mother!” Hadn’t she told him she supported him keeping the club? Hadn’t she said she wanted to try to understand? “You were going to destroy my home!” This place he loved. Perhaps the only place he had ever really loved, or wanted to stay. “Why?” His voice cracked, broke.

She raised her voice to match his. “Because I want you to come home with me! I want you to see that you don’t need this place.” She gestured, taking in the penthouse and the club below. “You don’t need these . . . people. You belong back home, in heaven. With your family.” She paused. “With me.”

“I see.” He wasn’t sure if he was trembling from rage or pain. He held tighter to the wall, was aware of Maze hovering close. “What changed your mind?”

She looked annoyed. “My bomber was too cowardly to bring down a building full of people. So I decided to blow up Chloe instead.”

Icy fear stabbed into him, melted quickly away by his fury boiling up and over, blazing red in his eyes. Terror and anger propelled him down the stairs until he stood over her. “I swear, mother, if you hurt her I will _rip_ —”

She raised her hands in a gesture that was somehow both placating and dismissive. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do that, either.” She glanced at Amenadiel with a grimace. “Your brother talked me out of it.”

“ _Why?_ ” he asked again, still unable to grasp what she had almost done. 

“Why did Amenadiel talk me out of it? He’s standing right there, ask him.”

“Why were you going to blow her up?” His voice grated in his throat. “What is she to you? She’s just an ordinary human—”

“It’s what she is to _you_ ,” Mum interrupted. “You don’t see her as _ordinary_. She’s holding you back, Lucifer. I had to show you—”

“What, that I don’t need her? You thought if you just _blew her up_ that I’d come home with you? Just like that?”

“Lucifer—” She reached for him.

He caught her wrist with an audible slap. “Don’t touch me, Mother.” He let go of her with a little shove, making her take a step back. He advanced, looking down at her. “I told you this is my home, and I meant it.” 

Motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His gaze flicked to Gabriel, still watching silently from the shadows. “What of you, brother? Come to admire your handiwork?” He spread his arms out to his sides. It felt good to vent his anger at him. Cleansing. “Take a good look. You did quite a number on me.” He sneered. “Satisfied?”

Gabriel’s eyes slid over Lucifer’s bruised body to the floor. He mumbled something inaudible.

“Hm? I didn’t catch that, dear brother.”

“I—I came to apologize.” Gabriel looked at him and quickly away, his face coloring. “I should not have—”

Lucifer couldn’t stop the laugh that tore out of him, sharp and humorless. “Did she put you up to this?” He turned back to Mum. “Still trying to get the fam back together?”

“He’s your brother, Lucifer, I’m trying to make peace between you.” She started to reach for him again, but he flinched away, eyes flashing red. She drew back.

“It’s _not happening,_ Mum!”

“Luci,” Amenadiel began, pleading.

“Get out.” Lucifer turned the red glow of eyes on him. “All of you. Get out of my house.”

“Okay.” Amenadiel held up his hands in surrender. “Come on.” He reached for Mum and ushered her toward the elevator. Gabriel trailed behind them. His shuffling feet sounded loud in the silence.

***

Lucifer managed to stay on his feet until the lift doors closed. He groped his way to the nearest armchair and collapsed into it, breathing hard. He was trembling all over. Shivering, he realized. Sweat was drying on his skin, chilling him. 

Maze draped a blanket over his shoulders. He tugged it around himself. A moment later she was pressing a tumbler of bourbon into his hands and setting the bottle of hydrocodone on the table at his elbow. He took the glass but left the pills, not quite ready to drop back into their haze. Maze sat down next to him, cradling her own glass between her hands.

“It seems you were right about Mum,” Lucifer said at last. His voice sounded distant to his own ears. A heavy, painful weight had settled on his chest that had nothing to do with bruises and broken bones.

Another time she might have gloated, but now she only grimaced and tossed back half of her bourbon. “I wish I wasn’t.”

“That makes two of us.” He took a long swallow from his own glass. It warmed him, but did little to loosen the tightness in his chest. _Grief,_ some part of him recognized. It spoke with Linda’s voice. _You’re grieving._ For what he thought he’d had with his mother. For Uriel. For the lost home and happy childhood he’d never had. 

He glanced sidelong at Maze and was surprised to find a smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re insufferable when you’re right.”

Her lips quirked in an answering smile. “So are you, asshole.”

“You were never so disrespectful in Hell, Maze.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Your brother must have hit you harder than I thought. You’re having memory problems.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I’d be happy to forget all about Hell.” After a moment he added, “I know you don’t feel the same.”

She shrugged. “I’m _of_ Hell. It was never your home.” She looked him over. “How are you feeling?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Famished.” He drained his glass, looked down at himself and grimaced. “And I need a shower.”

Maze eyed him critically. “D’you need help?”

“No.” He braced his hands on the armrests and tried to stand, found his legs wouldn’t hold him. “Just—help me up.”

She looked skeptical but did as he asked, supporting him for the short walk to the bathroom. She left him alone, sitting on the bench in the shower. It was a relief just to sit there and let the the last of the chill that had settled on him wash away. The heat loosened the muscles that had stiffened around his injured shoulder, easing his pain, though he still couldn’t lift the arm very far. Brownish water ran into the drain as he scrubbed the last of the dried blood from his skin and hair. He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the slate tiles when he had finished, let the water drumming on his shoulders lull him.

He blinked awake when Maze turned off the water some time later. She threw a towel at him. “I ordered food,” she said. “Still hungry?”

He pressed the towel against his dripping hair. “Starving.” 

Standing on his own was still more than he could manage; the row with Mum had sapped what little strength he’d had. He let Maze help him into his dressing gown and back to the living room. He nearly fell asleep again over his food. Maze half-carried him back to bed. 

He let his eyes close as the weight of the comforter settled over him. “Maze?” He blinked at her outline beside the door, her hand on the light switch. She turned back to him. “Thank you. For—” He broke off. Not trusting his mother. Looking after Chloe. Exhaustion and another generous dose of painkillers made his thoughts difficult to pin down and put into words, but she seemed to understand.

“My loyalty has always been to you, Lucifer. That hasn’t changed.” 

He knew, but he also knew he hadn’t acknowledged it recently. Or possibly ever. “Still. Thank you.”

There was a pause. He couldn’t quite make out her expression, but her voice was gruff when she replied, “You’re welcome.” She turned out the light. “Now go to sleep.”

***

Maze had finally begun to relax into the quiet in the penthouse when the elevator dinged another arrival. She swore and tossed her book aside, glowering at the doors as they opened. Amenadiel raised his hands defensively when he saw her.

“I came alone,” he said. When she made no move to attack him, he stepped cautiously from the elevator. He hesitated. “How is he?”

“He’ll survive. The family reunion didn’t help.” He flinched.

He glanced toward the bedroom, took a step toward it, but Maze blocked his way. “He’s sleeping.” 

Amenadiel looked pained, but he didn’t try to argue. He just pivoted, went to the bar and poured himself a drink.

She crossed her arms. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing them here?”

He winced. “I . . .wasn’t.”

“You think?”

“I mean that wasn’t what I was intending. I . . . sort of lost control of the situation.” He drained his glass, made a face, and refilled it. “Believe it or not, I was trying to help him.” 

She snorted rudely.

“I’m serious.”

“Help him how?”

“I was trying to distract Mom from him and Chloe. I thought seeing Gabriel would . . .” He trailed off, spread his hands.

Maze sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. She supposed couldn’t fault him for trying, however ineptly—and he _had_ helped, when it mattered, getting Gabriel out of the warehouse so she and Chloe could get Lucifer out of there, and making sure their mother didn’t blow up one of the only humans Maze liked. And at least Lucifer knew the truth about his mother, now. Much as she hated to see him in pain, she preferred it when they agreed on who their enemies were.

She stalked over to the bar leaned her on her elbows beside him. “What about Chloe?”

“Mom won’t try to hurt her again.” He hesitated, then added, “Not physically, anyway.”

She shot him a dark look. “What do you mean?”

“Mom wants Luci would want to come home with us. She thinks she can turn them against each other, somehow.”

She snorted. “Well, that’s not gonna happen.” 

“Humans can be fickle.”

“Not Chloe.” She took his glass from him and took a long swallow, then added, “And you’d better be right that she’s not going to try to hurt her again. Because if she gets so much as a paper cut—”

He took the glass back. “I took care of it, Maze.”

“Good.” She eyed him for a moment, hesitating. “So. You’re going to go back with her?” _If she finds a way back,_ she added to herself. And if Lucifer didn’t send her ass back to hell like she deserved.

“I have to.” Amenadiel set the empty glass on the bar and pushed it away. “I’m not . . . _whole_ , here.”

“You want your powers back.”

He looked at his hands. “Yes.”

Maze looked away. It didn’t make any sense, that she should feel hurt, but his words sent an unexpected stab of pain through her. She knew he believed that sleeping with her was one of the things that had caused his fall—though Maze privately thought that he had done a lot worse than having sex with her. If there could be anything more between them, whatever it was would never survive his return to Heaven. 

She noticed Amenadiel’s gaze straying to the darkened doorway into the bedroom. “He’ll never go with you,” she said.

“I know.” They stood there in silence for a moment, and then Amenadiel said, his eyes still on the shadowed doorway across the penthouse, “I just wanted out.” He glanced at her. “When I came to Earth. I didn’t care that he was unhappy. I didn’t care about what he wanted. I didn’t think it mattered. There was a balance to be maintained, and keeping it meant Luci in Hell, and me back home in Heaven.”

“And now?”

He sighed. “Now we’re both stuck in limbo. The difference is, he likes it here.”

Maze rolled her eyes. “I’ve been to limbo. Trust me, L.A.’s a lot more fun.” He actually laughed at that. She followed his gaze. “Go on, if you want to see him. I’m going to take a shower. You can let yourself out.”

***

“Luci?” Amenadiel pitched his voice low, loud enough to be heard but not so loud that he would wake his brother if he were asleep. When he got no reply from the shape on the bed, he stepped further into the room. He wasn’t sure what he’d wanted to say to him—not that it mattered right now, with Lucifer deep in what was undoubtedly a heavily-drugged sleep—so he just stood and watched him for a few moments. He lay on his back, his head turned slightly toward the doorway, and in the light filtering from the living room Amenadiel could see lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, as though he were still in pain, or dreaming unpleasant dreams. He hesitated, then reached for his brother’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t let Mom hurt Chloe.”

Was it his imagination, or did Lucifer’s expression relax the tiniest bit? He squeezed his hand again and started to go, then paused, turned back. “I’ll try not to let her hurt you, either, Luci.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. So sorry for the long delay in getting this up, and many thanks for your patience, dear readers! April buried me under an avalanche of final projects and papers and I had to put fic writing aside for a bit. But here it is, finally, the conversation you've been waiting for. I wrote it before watching the new eps (and in fact I'm going to go start getting caught up right now!) so any resemblance to canon is just happy coincidence. :)
> 
> Thanks again for your patience. I hope you enjoy (and as usual, would love to hear your thoughts!)

It was another four days before Maze judged it safe for Chloe to come to the penthouse. Chloe felt more nervous than she thought she should as she rode the elevator up from the club. She felt like she might burst from not seeing him, but she didn’t know what she would say to him when she did. They hadn’t talked since she’d hurried off the phone the morning after they’d rescued him from the warehouse and his brother. Chloe had gone back to work, done her best to distract herself, but Lucifer’s absence was palpable, and she had Dan and Ella’s concern to contend with, as well. She wasn’t sure what Ella thought had happened, but Chloe’s desperate late night call asking her to trace Lucifer’s phone meant she definitely didn’t buy the story that Lucifer was out with the flu. Chloe appreciated their support, but it made it hard to keep her own messy emotions in check. 

She found Lucifer sitting outside on the balcony. His eyes were closed, his face turned up toward the sunshine but she could tell by his posture he wasn’t asleep. He didn’t look anything like his usual immaculate self: his hair was mussed, his face unshaven, and fading bruises made yellowish splotches on his face and chest, visible in the open neck of his robe. He held a book in one hand, resting on his knee with a finger marking his page.

After a moment Chloe cleared her throat and ventured, “I guess you don’t get many days like this in Hell.”

He opened his eyes, blinking in the bright light. “Detective.” He sounded pleased to see her, and—was that relief in his voice? “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Of course I came.” She smiled at him. It helped her relax, to see he shared her uncertainty. “I told you, I just . . . needed some time.” She crossed the balcony and sat down on the other end of the couch, leaving space between them even though she badly wanted to sit close, to touch him, just to assure herself he was real, that he was okay. “How are you feeling?”

“Rather like I was beaten half to death a few days ago.” She winced, but he went on, “A few more days and I’ll be back to normal.”

Chloe blinked. “Oh—oh.” A few days?

He shrugged “It takes time even for me to heal broken ribs, apparently.”

Her reaction had been for the opposite reason, but—typically—he had misread it. “You know it would take most people months to fully heal from injuries like—like what you had.”

He smirked. “Well, I’m not most people, am I?”

“No, you’re definitely not.” Their conversation was skating dangerously close to subject matter Chloe wasn’t quite ready to discuss. Looking around for something else to talk about, she nodded toward the book in his hand. “What are you reading?”

He held it up so she could see the title. “ _Dorian Gray._ Do you know it?”

It sounded familiar. She took it from him, turning it over in her hands. “I think I read it in college. Doesn’t he sell his soul to the Devil for eternal youth, or something?” Well, that topic change had failed miserably. But Lucifer’s response was so unexpected she couldn’t help laughing.

“Yes, he got that part wrong. Everyone does.” He let out a heavy sigh, looking mournful. “All you humans think I want your souls.”

“Don’t you?”

He scoffed. “What for? I only look after them in Hell because I have to. They’re bloody useless as currency. I trade in favors, remember?” He frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Chloe controlled her laughter for a moment, but it bubbled up again. “You,” she said, and then covered her mouth with her hand because she was laughing at the Devil. But he just looked annoyed.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“You don’t have to—” Chloe began, holding up a hand, but he was already up, moving gingerly as he took two glasses from the tray at the end of the bar and poured whiskey from a decanter. Chloe took the one he offered her, watched him sit carefully back down. His irritation was gone, replaced by something else, something more fragile. He drew a deep breath. “I believe I owe you an explanation, Detective. And an apology.”

“An apology? For what?”

He looked down at his glass. “I deceived you.”

Chloe frowned. “Lucifer, you’ve always told me the truth about who you are. The fact that I didn’t believe you doesn’t mean you willfully deceived me.”

He shook his head. “I knew you didn’t believe me, and I stopped trying to convince you. That’s not much different than lying, in the end.”

“Like the time you talked me into shooting you? That kind of convincing?” She raised an eyebrow. “‘Cause that worked out real well.”

He grimaced, took a swallow from his glass. “Yes. Well, I didn’t know then about your . . . effect on me.”

“That I make you vulnerable.”

“Yes. Detective . . .” He hesitated. Chloe watched his hands clench around his glass and then relax. “Why didn’t you test my blood?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he forestalled her. “I mean, I know, you ‘needed the eggs,’ but . . .” He searched her face. “Why? What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know. I guess . . . I was afraid of what I might find out.” She thought about her conversation with Ella, about faith. “And—some part of me already knew. I mean, I knew what Amenadiel told me was a load of crap—”

“Amenadiel?” he interrupted. “What did he tell you?”

“That you were perpetrating a very elaborate hoax in the service of your equally elaborate delusion.”

His mouth tightened. “Of course he did. Go on.”

She shrugged. “That’s it. What I told you was true, about needing the eggs.” She itched to reach for him but held herself back, sensing she might spook him. “I like working with you, Lucifer. I value our partnership, and our friendship, or our—whatever it is. If it’s more, or not.” Her face heated. She hadn’t meant to say quite that much, but she pushed on. “The rest is just details. I decided it didn’t really matter.” She sipped her own drink. “Your turn,” she said. “Why did you stop trying to convince me?”

He looked away. “Why do you think? I was afraid.”

Chloe swallowed hard. She almost didn’t dare ask, but she forced the words out. “Afraid of what?”

He raised his eyebrows, as if annoyed that she would ask such an obvious question. “That you wouldn’t want to continue our partnership. Friendship. Whatever it is. That’s why I didn’t come meet you that night. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid I’d never see you again if I did. My brother didn’t show up for hours after I was supposed to meet you.”

Chloe’s heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She remembered holding him in the backseat of her car, trying to follow his confused ramblings. _I was afraid,_ he’d said, and she’d thought he meant of his brother, but he’d been talking about her.

“What would you have done?” she asked after a moment. “To convince me?”

He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself. “I would have shown you my face. My—my other face.” He set his glass aside and sat up straighter. “I’ll show you now, if you want.”

Chloe didn’t answer right away. He returned her gaze while she studied him, sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, his hands relaxed on his knees, but she could guess at the tension hidden beneath his easy posture. She almost said no, but something stopped her—a feeling that she _needed_ to see, and that, however much he may not want it, _he_ needed it, too. 

“All right,” she said.

He seemed to wilt a little. “If—if you need to leave, or—If you don’t want to see me again, after . . . I’ll understand.”

“Lucifer.” Chloe finally gave in to her desire to touch him. She reached over and placed her hand over his. “I’m not going to run away. Just show me.”

His lips pressed into a tight smile.“All right,” he said softly. He pulled his hands away. The air seemed to shimmer around him.

***

Linda had called it his true face, but the face Lucifer showed Chloe on the balcony that afternoon, the face that drove wrongdoers to insanity, wasn’t any more or less _true_ than his human one. It was simply his _other_ face, part of his power, a “gift” bestowed by his father when he’d tossed him out of Heaven and into the Lake of Fire—one Lucifer would have happily given up along with his wings if he could have. 

He sat very still, afraid to alarm Chloe by moving, and controlled his breathing with an effort. He waited for her to start weeping, to scream or run away, but she just sat there, studying him with a small frown. There was no terror in her expression, just curiosity. And then she did the most astonishing thing he could have imagined.

She _touched_ him.

It was the barest brush of her fingers against his skin, but he was so surprised he started and jerked away from her, his hand going to his cheek. He let his human face drop back into place.

“I’m sorry!” Chloe pulled her hand back just as quickly, her eyes going wide with alarm. “Did—did I hurt you?”

“What?” He took his hand away from his cheek, looked at it and then at her, bewildered. His skin still tingled where she had touched him. She had _touched_ him. Not the human him. She had touched the _monster_ him. “No, of course not. What makes you say that?”

She twisted her hands together in her lap. “I—I thought maybe, since I make you vulnerable, that I might—hurt you.”

“No.” He reached for her hands and covered them with his own. “No. You don’t hurt me, Chloe.”

She hesitated. “How—? Were you—were you burned.”

“Yes.” He pulled his hands back, looked down at them, smooth pale skin and blue veins. “Lake of fire, and all that.” But that had been a long time ago, and all he was left with was the memory of pain. The anger had stayed with him, though, always seething somewhere below the surface. He picked up his glass from the side table and gulped down most of what was inside. “You’re not—frightened of me?” he asked.

“Should I be?”

“No.” He had to force the word out through the sudden tightness in his throat. “Never.”

“Good.” She smiled, touched his knee, and then drew back. “I . . .” she began, and trailed off.

“You have questions,” he said.

“A few.” But she hesitated. “Your brother. Ariel?”

“Uriel.” His voice caught on the syllables of his brother’s name. He was sure she heard it.

“What happened?”

He closed his eyes to avoid her gaze and saw Azrael’s blade lying on that moldering church floor. His fingers had closed around the hilt almost of their own accord. He could still feel the weight of it in his hand, how easily it had slid between Uriel’s ribs. His hand tightened convulsively on his glass. 

“I didn’t have a choice.” He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at her. “His finger was on the trigger, so to speak.”

A little shiver went through her. “So to speak?”

“We—angels—can’t kill humans, not directly, but—” He paused, trying to put his thoughts in order. “We all have different abilities. I have power over desire, Gabriel can affect people’s memories, Amenadiel can slow time—well, he could, before—” But that was Amenadiel’s story to tell, and not the point besides.

“And Uriel?” Chloe prompted.

He sighed. “Uriel could affect patterns. Knock over an anthill here, a husband gets caught _in flagrante_ with his mistress there, that sort of thing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The car accident. You were so worried something was going to happen that day. I thought . . .” 

“Well, how were you to know? All Uriel had to do was kick the right anthill at the right time.”

“And he was about to—?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To manipulate me. And then to hurt me.” He finished his whiskey. “He was threatening you to try to get me to let him take our mother back to Hell. Except he was lying about that part. He was planning to kill her. _And_ you, in the end, just for spite.” He felt the blade slide into flesh, felt the hot blood spilling onto his hands, saw the look of surprise on his brother’s face. He avoided Chloe’s gaze as he concluded, “He didn’t leave me any choice.”

Chloe was silent for several long moments. He could practically hear in the turmoil in her thoughts. Finally she said, faintly, “Your mother?” And then, “You have a mother?”

He almost laughed. “Of course I have a mother. Where do you think I came from?”

She opened her mouth, closed it. “God? I don’t know. I don’t think I ever gave it much thought.”

“Well, what’s God without a Goddess?” He shrugged. “Dad _did_ create humanity in his image.”

“Right,” she said faintly. “So what happened?”

“Dad chucked her out and sent her to Hell, same as me.” Not quite the same, if Mum’s story was to be believed—and despite himself, he still _wanted_ to believe, even though he knew that it was foolish, that nothing good could come from trusting her. He spread his hands. “She escaped, and I decided it was a better punishment to make her stay here. A decision I’m beginning to rethink,” he added, half to himself. “You’ve met her, actually. Charlotte Richards.”

Chloe closed her mouth with an audible click. “ _Charlotte Richards_ is your _mother_?”

“Well, no, Charlotte Richards is dead. Mum’s just . . . borrowed her body. Well. Permanently.”

Chloe looked skyward, closing her eyes. “I think I need another drink,” she said.

Lucifer looked down at the empty glass in his hands. “Just bring the decanter.”

***

It was dusk by the time Chloe left—in a cab, at Lucifer’s insistence, because between them they had emptied the decanter of whiskey and she was visibly unsteady, certainly too drunk to drive. He went back outside after walking her to the lift and sank back down on the sofa they had shared all afternoon. He rested his head on the back cushion and watched the stars come out. A cool breeze ruffled his hair. His body ached, and his limbs and eyelids felt heavy. It had taken a long time to explain everything to Chloe, and more energy than he’d expected. And on top of that, he was being reminded forcibly just how exhausting healing was, especially on Earth; something about divinely-inflicted injuries and the mortal plane didn’t seem to mix. It had been the same when he’d made Maze sever his wings, back when they’d first arrived. They’d had to hole up for days while he’d healed, and the scars had ached for months afterward. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling phantom feathers against his back.

He really did owe Maze more thanks than he had ever given her, he thought, letting his eyes drift closed. It would have been easier to tell her so if they’d still been lovers; he’d always had an easier time with the language of the body. But perhaps there was something else he could do for her. He didn’t have a way back to Hell, which was what she really wanted, but maybe something she could use here on Earth. Weapons were always a good bet. He couldn’t match the set of demon daggers she carried, but maybe she would like a gun . . .

The sound of the lift jolted him back to wakefulness. He really needed to get some security on that door, he thought, getting to his feet, expecting Maze or Amenadiel.

His annoyance turned to a cold stab of fear when he saw Gabriel. He stopped a safe distance away, though, and held up his hands to show he was unarmed. Lucifer stood in the doorway to the balcony, glad he no longer swayed on his feet, though he stood close to the frame in case he needed something to hold onto. “Brother,” he greeted him, wary.

“Lucifer.” Gabriel hesitated, started to come closer, but he stopped when he saw Lucifer’s warning look. He held his hands up again, defensive. “I’m not— I haven’t come to—”

“Kidnap and torture me?” Lucifer suggested. Gabriel flinched. Lucifer folded his arms and leaned against the door frame. “What _are_ you doing here, then?” He didn’t try to hide the tiredness in his voice.

Gabriel avoided his eyes. “I meant what I said about apologizing. It was Mother’s suggestion, but—she doesn’t know I’m here.” He raised his head to look at him. “I’ve come to—to set things right.”

“I see.” He crossed to the bar and poured himself a drink. When he turned back to him, Gabriel still hadn’t moved. “Apology noted,” he said. Something wounded flashed across his brother’s expression, and Lucifer couldn’t keep his mouth from twisting into a sneer. After so many millennia of siding against him, of believing so ardently in his own righteousness that he never considered Lucifer might be anything other than evil, after coming to Earth to beat him to a pulp and take him back to Hell when _Uriel_ —and he thought mere words were enough to earn Lucifer’s forgiveness? He raised his glass in a sardonic toast. “Mercy and forgiveness are your thing, brother, not mine. And what was it you said?” He sipped his drink, thinking back to that night in the warehouse. “‘The deserving humble themselves before God’?”

“And you said it shouldn’t matter if mercy is deserved. That the point is to give it even when it’s not.”

“So I did.” Lucifer tilted his head. “But I never claimed to be the merciful sort.”

Gabriel sighed. “No, you haven’t,” he agreed. “Well, perhaps I can make a start at . . . _deserving_ your forgiveness. I’m going back to the Silver City. Mother wants me to take her and Amenadiel and you—”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. “Is taking me back to the Silver City supposed to be your idea of ‘setting thing right’?”

Gabriel snorted. “Of course not. I know you well enough to know you have no love for our home, even if I never understood why.”

Lucifer relaxed a little, gestured for him to go on.

“I’m not taking them back, either.”

“Not even Amenadiel?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Whatever’s happened to him is between him and Father. I won’t interfere.” He smiled wryly. “I’ve learned my lesson on that count. But if you wish, I’ll take Mother back to Hell before I go.”

Lucifer blinked. “What?” Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Why?”

“Amenadiel told me what she did. And I’ve seen her, talked to her. She’s dangerous, brother. It’s your choice, if you wish to keep her here, but—”

Lucifer reached for a barstool and pulled himself onto it before his knees gave out. He could have Mother out of his hair, he wouldn’t have to worry about Chloe, or Father—

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Thank you, but no.” He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed important that she should stay on Earth, even as part of him cried out in protest. 

“As you wish, brother.” Gabriel turned to go, but he paused and turned back. “Should you change your mind—you know where to find me.”

Lucifer nodded, and he surprised himself by saying, “It’s a start.”

Gabriel blinked, looking surprised, but pleased. “Until we meet again, then,” he said, and disappeared into the lift.


	7. Epilogue

Lucifer didn’t come to the precinct on Monday.

He still hadn’t gotten a new phone, so Chloe hadn’t talked to him since he had explained everything to her. She had gone home that evening assuming she would see him at work—which was what they’d agreed, or what she thought they’d agreed—and spent the weekend attempting to reclaim some sense of normalcy. She thought she was doing pretty well, all things considered. Maze was still staying at Lucifer’s, so she and Trixie had the apartment to themselves. They went to the park on Saturday, ate pizza and ice cream in front of the TV, and invented a game that involved throwing balled-up socks into various receptacles while avoiding the shark-infested waters that had replaced the floor. It was a relief not to think about angels and demons and heaven and hell. It was a relief to _be able_ not to think about those things, and just laugh with her daughter.

When he still hadn’t shown up by lunchtime, she realized her silence had been a mistake.

He was playing the piano when she got out of the elevator in the penthouse, and didn’t hear her come in. He was dressed today, impeccable in patterned gray suit pants and a vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His bruises were gone. The only hint of his injuries was a slight stiffness to his posture that Chloe didn’t think she would have noticed had she not been looking for it.

She stepped to the side, not wanting to interrupt him, and watched his hands move across the keys. She didn’t recognize the tune, but it had a melancholy feel to it. Where had he learned to play? she wondered. Surely there weren’t pianos in Hell?

The notes trailed off into silence and Chloe gave a soft round of applause, as much to announce her presence as to compliment his playing. He turned to look at her, surprised. “Detective. What are you doing here? Not that I’m not glad to see you,” he added quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting . . .” He trailed off.

“You didn’t come to work,” she replied, trying to keep her voice casual. Had she really never noticed how difficult it was for him to trust?

“Yes, well, I—” He fumbled. “I thought I ought to give you some space.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and joined him on the piano bench. “I don’t want space, Lucifer, I want my partner.”

“You—?” He blinked. “Oh.”

“I meant what I said.” She hesitated a moment, then took his hand. “I’m glad I know. I’m glad you told me. But it’s just details. What matters is our—” She broke off, growing uncertain. Friendship? Partnership? Something else?

“Whatever this is?” he suggested, holding up their linked hands. A smile played around his mouth. Chloe returned it.

“Whatever this is,” she agreed. She squeezed his hand.

“Well,” he said, at the same time as Chloe said, “Actually—” They both fell silent. He gestured for her to go ahead.

She tilted her head to look up at him, feeling mischievous. “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you about.”

Wariness flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t pull away from her. “Yes?” 

Chloe couldn’t suppress her grin. “Does your brother really call you ‘Luci’?”

“Only because I can’t stop him. Why?” He looked at her suspiciously.“ _Don’t even think about it_.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay.” She smirked. “Luci.”

“You’ve been dying to tease me about that, haven’t you?”

“Maybe a little.”

He looked annoyed, but there was humor in his expression, too. He turned back to the piano and ran his fingers along the keys, picking out a few notes. “I don’t suppose you have any embarrassing childhood nicknames?”

“Fortunately, no.”

“Typical. But you gave your daughter a hooker’s name.”

She rolled her eyes and didn’t rise to the bait. “So,” she bumped his shoulder. “You ready to go solve some crime, Luci?”

“Only if you stop calling me that.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“If I have to.”

“How?”

He turned to her. “Like this,” he said, and he kissed her.

Chloe was so surprised that she didn’t respond at first. She had goaded him to do it, but she hadn’t thought he was _going_ to. Not that she was complaining. 

He pulled away. “I’m sorry, Detective, I—”

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Don’t be,” she said, and closed the distance between them. She pressed her lips to his, hard. He exhaled against her, making a small noise in his throat that almost made Chloe throw all caution to the wind and start ripping his clothes off right there. 

Instead, she pulled away from him. It was an effort, but it was worth it for the expression on his face. “Not so fast.” He blinked a few times, as though coming out of a daze. She straightened his collar and grinned. “You still owe me dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks! Thanks for reading along. I am off to get caught up on the most recent eps so I don't get spoiled in your comments! :D


End file.
